


The way you make a mess

by columbine_and_asphodel (onlycrooks)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Old Age, can be sexual or romantic friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlycrooks/pseuds/columbine_and_asphodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first thing he does is make sure of his surroundings, in particular the lump of sheet and grump that is his partner.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way you make a mess

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Pelle Carlberg's _I Love You, You Imbecile_ which fits every OTP I've ever had ever.
> 
> Also, I don't know if I should put this in the tags or not, but this centers around age-related illness. It is not, however, a death!fic.

_Morning_

Steve sleeps in now, whatever Danny may say. He's past the age of being called up- well beyond it, considering he's retired from Five-0 and can feel his joints creak- but he still can't sleep past noon. Whatever time it is, though, his day begins the same way.

The first thing he does is make sure of his surroundings, in particular the lump of sheet and grump that is his partner. Steve will check for the telltale movement of Danny's body as he breathes and the light love-dove of his heartbeat on Steve's shoulder. They have yet to be absent, which always thrills and terrifies him, because he wants to keep Danny with him forever but knows one of these days, his Danno's going to find the rest he's more than earned. Steve has an uncomfortable certainty he's going to be the one doing the burying. He can feel it in the way Danny's been sleeping more and struggling harder to do even simple things. It's going to hurt, Steve knows, but he thinks he won't hold it against Danny, that he's going to abandon Steve- only for a few hours or days, perhaps, but not years, never years. Maybe not even a month. The siren song of _no_ _more pills_ and _having Danno_  will be too pleasant to resist for long.

For now, at least, Danny's right where he belongs: half draped over Steve, the silver hair on his chest catching Steve's and tickling him. The hair on Danny's head, cut close now his hands don't work well enough to style it (The day he'd realized that had been one of the saddest in Steve's memory. He'd found Danny standing in the bathroom, hands struggling to grip the newest, lightest blow dryer, with a look so awful Steve had immediately pulled Danny close enough to make his arms shake, disregarding the voice in his head telling him not to approach the wounded man and let him mourn on his own. Danny had allowed it the hug and put the dryer on the counter without Steve asking. Not two hours later, a barber had buzzed nearly all of it off, kindly ignoring the small, distressed noises coming from Danny and the tear or two Steve hadn't quite kept in), is sharp against Steve's bare shoulder, but it's part of Danny, so there's no surprise it's prickly.

Usually Steve will take a few minutes to rub Danny's back and nuzzle his face, just to feel how real he is, a small part of him afraid it's all a dream and he's aboard a crowded ship in the middle of the Pacific, making up a life back in Hawaii to deal with his mother's death. Danny's too far from what Steve would have imagined for himself to be a dream, but he likes to have as much evidence as possible, especially when Danny sighs and snuggles closer.

Eventually he'll extricate himself and get up, either to do tai chi or, if Danny's been looking paler than usual, surprise him with breakfast in bed. The sour look and prim, "Finally domesticated you, have I?" make it easier to pretend Danny isn't leaving him.

_Afternoon_

When Danny manages to wake up and convince himself Steve's fears outweigh the indignity of taking the chair lift- he's already broken a hip once going down them, the stubborn bastard- Steve will have showered and gotten dressed. He'll be waiting at the bottom step to lift Danny up and eagerly steal the first kiss of the day. Lazy Danny Kisses, he's found, remind him he can't just lock the man in their room and try to fend death off with the walker Danny won't touch- says he'd rather lean on Steve, which Steve is happy to encourage, because it leads to more kisses, too, and satisfies Steve's need to stock up on them.

They eat brunch in silence, Danny listlessly nibbling his egg and knocking back his palmful of pills on autopilot. The lack of chatter hurts more than Steve would like, but he knows how much it upsets Danny when he can't find the right words or realizes he'd stopped mid-thought and can't figure out what he'd been trying to say. They don't need words at this point anyway, not after forty plus years of working and waking together, so Steve leaves him in peace and glories in what little Danny does say.

For now, they're living in Steve's house, neither willing to head to a home yet, but Steve can't deny the worry feels when he discovers Danny's wandered off, lost in his head. He always comes back when Steve calls, though, drawn by the sight of him and the sound of his voice, but the happy, if confused, smile Danny sends his way isn't quite worth the fear of not knowing where he is or what he's doing.

If he hasn't wandered off, they'll go for a short walk, Danny's grip still strong on Steve's arm and his nose playfully nudging Steve's face when he thinks Steve isn't paying enough attention to him. On the best of days, he'll have a smart remark that will mean Steve has to taste his bitter tongue, ignoring the reminder of all Danny's pills, and say something overly sentimental in Hawaiian, just in case it's the last time.

The walks exhaust Danny, so once they're back, they shuffle to the downstairs bedroom for a nap, Steve's body tucked protectively around him. Perhaps it's a little possessive, too, but Steve's always wanted his partner for himself. Danny doesn't complain about it, just makes sure he's got Steve's hand in his before nodding off, so he figures it doesn't bother him.

It's easy to forget, when he's sleeping, that Danny's sick. He loses the confused expression and doesn't get forget about where he is or what's going on.

 _Or who Steve is._ That's the hardest to take. The first time it happened, Steve had barely been able to escape in time, leaving Danny in Chin and Kono's startled care as he fled to the bathroom and vomited. He'd come back and found Danny sitting on the couch, telling Kono about his partner, Steve, how obnoxiously handsome he was and that he'd once thrown a man in a cage surrounded by sharks. He hadn't even registered Steve's reappearance.

It hadn't lasted long, maybe ten minutes, but ten minutes at ninety means more at ninety than it had at forty.

At this point, Danny completely slips into the past three or four times a week, and the episodes are only coming more frequently and lasting longer as time passes. He's always sorrowful when he comes back to himself, recognizing Steve's expression as _You were gone, Danno,_  clearly torn between comforting Steve and hiding away to lick his wounds. Not that Steve lets him do either. He won't let Danny's last memories make him sad. He won't.

Grace doesn't bring the grandchildren around anymore, and Steve recognizes that for what it is. It's getting too hard to see her Danno like this, too likely to upset the little ones if they visit and their grandpa doesn't recognize them. That Grandpa Steve does is a mild consolation; children feel rejection, even the unintentional and unavoidable kind, harder and longer than love. Love is expected; the almost fearful look on Danny's face when he doesn't recognize them wouldn't be.

He doesn't know if Danny's noticed their absence or not, so Steve hasn't mentioned it. He feels more like a liar every day.

_Evening_

They have dinner on the old leather couch, Ensure for Danny and toast for Steve. They watch the news and murmur sadly that things don't change- take on different faces, perhaps, but never change. In the end, what's good is good, and what isn't, isn't.

Danny will be leaning heavily against Steve, sleepy and full, by the the time the news switches to what Danny likes to call their programs. "Because we're old, Steven, and old people get to have their programs. It's yet another thing that separates us from animal planet," he'd said once, eyes wide and innocent, as if Steve wouldn't remember the original jibe. It had made Steve want to shout at first, furious because of the two, he isn't the one _forgetting who he is,_ but he'd realized even before he could open his mouth that Danny hadn't been trying to upset him. He'd been saying, in a typically Danny way, that he knows what's happening and that, to him, it doesn't change who he and Steve are.

It doesn't make watching him waste away not hurt, but Steve isn't cruel enough to tell him that. Danny probably knows it anyway. He's frail now, but when he's lucid, he's as sharp as ever.

By nine thirty, Steve will have to debate whether he should let Danny catch another nap or wake him. Most often, he wakes him, needing to have as much _Danny_ time as he can get before it's Danny's _time,_ which may make him selfish, but if it does, at least he's loving what little of his best friend he has left.

_Night_

Steve sits on the chair lift first, then pulls Danny into his lap as he hits the up button. He knows being the only one to need assistance bothers Danny, so he tries to leave him dignity where he can. He likes the feeling of Danny, warm and familiar, in his arms, too, so it's dignity easily left. It reminds him of the few times he'd managed to carry Danny up when they were young, an injury or sheer exhaustion leaving Danny physically, if not verbally, unresisting.

Brushing their teeth is either yet another exercise in silence or one in frustration. If Danny's hands are steady, he and Steve will brush in silence, then head to bed. If they aren't, Danny will curse loudly, and if he's had a bad enough day, he'll slam the toothbrush on the sink in rare a display of his old temper. He'll kick Steve out, either by shoving weakly until he gives in or turning his sharp tongue on Steve, as capable as ever of saying the most hurtful thing every time. _Don't need you. Don't want you. Don't trust me? Not a child. Can brush my own damn teeth. Think this is funny? Gonna brush my teeth for me? So you're my nurse, too now. Definitely no SEAL training for this. I don't want to do this anymore_. The last is the most terrifying, but it's _Stop looking at me! I don't want you here,_ that never fails to get him out, because as much as Steve loves Danny and wants to spend every last second with him, he's aware of how much Danny needs not to be a burden.

He isn't, not the way he thinks. The burden is watching him suffer with no way to make it easier. It's hard to carry it, and Steve knows he's been stumbling more and more, because he's not as young and strong as he'd been etiher. If losing the burden means walking away and leaving Danny to die alone, however, he'll just have to work around it.

Steve will wait just outside the door for the tell-tale sounds of the lock sliding into place and Danny dropping to the floor, and he'll try not to flinch when he hears his partner cry. It's always soft, as if Danny can't mourn properly, which makes everything worse.

Eventually, Danny will stop, and Steve will take that as a sign to scoot, hoping to escape the awful whimpers Danny makes when he struggles to his feet.

By the time he's washed his face, slapped at the lock hard enough to unlock the door and emerged, Steve will have changed and gotten into bed, the book he isn't actually reading open to a random page. He'll look at Danny and pretend he can't see how wrecked he looks. He'll give Danny a crooked smile, beckoning him to bed, and Danny will come, murmuring an embarrassed apology as he does. Steve waves it off every time.

Neither mentions Danny's wince as he slides off his elastic boardies and worn t-shirt, just as neither had brought up the disappearance of his button-downs and switch to Steve's old tops.

Once he's settled- curled around Steve's side this time, his head pillowed on a shoulder that's more bony than muscular- Steve will press as many kisses to Danny's head and neck as he can before Danny starts to squirm, ticklish.

Then Danny will give him a smile, and no matter what's happened, it's the same one that makes his crows feet deepen, his teeth flash and Steve's heart stutter.

It's only fair Steve give one back as he dips his head for an Eskimo kiss and whispers, "I love you, Daniel." Danny's breath is warm on his skin when he answers. "And I love you, Steven."

As soon as Danny's breathing is soft and slow, Steve will recite his usual mantra.

_Don't take him tonight. Let me have one more day with him. Just one more day. Not tonight. Please, not tonight._

He checks that Danny's truly asleep before carefully reaching out and turning the light off. It doesn't take more than a minute for him to nod off, so he never hears the quiet, "Just in case there's no tomorrow, Danno loves you."

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is silly, but I want to add that the "love-dove" sound of Danny's heartbeat comes from my childish misunderstanding of my grandma, on whom I modeled Steve a bit, describing the sound of a heart beating (She'd said "lub-dub," but she was a nurse and I'm not.)


End file.
